The Bedroom Killer (18 page)

CHAPTER 40

Bell stood beside Megan's empty desk, his head swiveling from side to side, searching the room.

"You see
n her yet?" he asked.

Andy, sitting at his desk behind Megan's, shook his head
, "Not yet."

He didn't wait for Bell to ask a follow
-up question, but instead grabbed a file on his desk and then the computer mouse as if he were looking up some vital piece of information that just couldn't wait. In reality, Andy didn't want another "Megan conversation" with Bell. He shouldn't be surprised every time she didn't make it in for the briefing. As far as Andy could tell, it was situation normal. She'd eventually show up. She'd do her work. They went out on calls and took interviews with witnesses. It's not like she was AWOL and wasn't going to return. For as long as it had been going on, it was strange that Bell acted as if it were the first time…every time it happened. Andy had seen Megan get chastised by Bell. Each time she had a seemingly valid excuse and things were soon back to normal. This was the only homicide division Andy had ever worked. He didn't know how other homicide divisions in other police departments would handle a detective like Megan, but he didn't sweat it. Then again, he wasn't running the show and responsible for the team like Bell. So, when it came to Megan, Andy would have to play by Bell's rules and hope that Megan would soon get her act together.

Andy watched from the corner of his eye as Bell
bent down and scanned the files on her desk, using the tip of his pen to slide the files and pages to one side, as he would at a crime scene. He swung around, walked back into his office, and slumped into his black vinyl swivel chair. Andy took one last look at Megan's empty desk before getting back to work.

CHAPTER 41

Megan had dropped him off at his house,
kissed him deeply, then wished him a great day, and sped off to work. John watched her go from his porch, then ran through the rain back out to his car and drove to Greenwood Memorial, where he was now waiting. He paced back and forth next to his parked car as he watched for Nurse Carrie to exit the rear employee door of Greenwood Memorial.

How many times had he stood in this same parking lot, thinking about his life and where he and Paulette would end up
? He’d wondered about Carrie too. As familiar as it all was, he knew that he wouldn't have either of those thoughts anymore. He knew Carrie worked the day shift. He spent the time watching the parking lot and waiting, noting a couple doctors and other staff he'd recognized walking in and out over the course of the hour. He didn't mind sitting and waiting. He'd already walked over to Carrie's car earlier to peer inside the window. The same zebra print steering wheel cover. The same women's health magazines in the backseat. The same coffee cup in the holder. It felt as if no time had passed.

When Carrie finally stepped out the door
, she was wearing a long, gray, brushed-wool overcoat under which was a white nurse's coat. She was digging through her handbag—probably searching for her keys. She was nearly upon him when she finally pulled them out.

"Hello, Carrie
," John said.

Carrie dropp
ed her keys to the ground.

"Oh my God, John
. You scared me," Carrie said, as she bent down to pick up the keys.

John stepped forward in an attempt to help
, but thought better of it. She rose and took a couple steps back, as if coming too close might cause something bad to happen…again.

"Sorry
If I scared you," John said.

A dark Humvee zoomed behind them
. John recognized Dr. William Keating behind the wheel. He was a damn good surgeon and a damn good poker player. John knew from experience. What started out as a friendly game two years ago turned into a shouting match. The two of them never spoke again—other than professionally. John turned back to Carrie.

"How are you?"
John said.

Carrie nodded and
answered, "Okay, I guess. You?"

"Hanging in there."

They stared at each other for a brief moment. Carrie broke the silence.

"Danny says you'
ll be seeing Dr. Samuelson?"

"
In the next few days," John said, his eyes darted to his right then returned to look at Carrie. "I…wanted to apologize for putting you though that."

"You don't have
to—" Carrie said.

"Yes, I do," John said, cutting her off
. "I shouldn't have put you through that. I could have gone home and taken care of it."

"Right, stitch up your cheek in the mirror
half drunk."

John smiled, which made her smile. Carrie stepped forward and put her arms around John. He stiffened before allowing himself to accept her hug, but then reciprocated with a strong hug of his own. It felt good. It felt warm and right. She was a friend. A good friend. And she had helped him that night, took care of the bleeding, and stitched up his face. She stayed with him until Danny arrived. He also knew she was the one who called the police, but knew she had to do it. Megan suddenly entered his mind and he quickly closed that door.

Not here
.

Not now.

Carrie slowly pulled away and took a step back, curling a finger to remove a stand of black hair that had blown across her dark brown eyes. John loved those eyes. He knew what he wanted to say, but didn't know how to say it. It was the reason he came. It had been on his mind a lot before his suicide attempt, and he came here today to get it off his chest.

"Well, I should be go
…"

"Do you ever think about it," he asked
. "That night?"

Carrie froze, blinked her eyes twice, and then dropped her keys inside her purse
, almost as if she wasn't really thinking about what she was doing.

"I try not to," she said, her voice cracking
. "It's not something I want to think about John. I don't mean to make light of it, but it's been a long time."

"We didn't cheat," he said, staring deep into Carrie's eyes.

"It was only a matter of time," Carrie said.

He took a deep breath and what he prepared to say next were words that had been written and rewritten a million times over in his mind
, at least for the first three months following the accident. Only he had never seen her again, face-to-face, to be able to say them. But now he was here. And he brought it up, so it was time to finally say those words.

"We flirted so much that day
…"

"John you don't have to say—"

"I do. Please let me say this. I have to."

Carrie nodded.

John took a deep breath and said, "I stayed later because that one patient came in, the woman and her husband. But I really stayed just so I could flirt longer. Then Paulette called and yelled at me, and I yelled back. I told her to go without me and I would meet her. We had plans that night. But I stayed late. It was my fault. I wanted to make sure you knew that. My fault. I never knew how you felt. What you thought of me…of us. So I came here today to tell you that…and say thank you, for helping me the other night. I didn't know where else to go."

Tears
had welled up in Carrie's eyes and she wiped them with the back of her hand. She pulled her coat together and cinched the strap tightly.

"It was very chaotic," Carrie said. "For all of us. I cried so many tears for you. Not for us. For you. For Paulette and Trevor."

John nodded. He remembered Trevor and the chaos that ensued after he'd arrived in the ambulance. And then the funerals.

"I took time off. Danny
kept working, insisting he was needed without you around. He took time off for the funeral, but went right back that night after saying good night to you. I thought of you then, alone in his house after Danny had left. I couldn't imagine your pain. I felt guilty, too, you know. "

"No," John said quickly, shaking his head. "None of it was your fault."

"If it wasn’t my fault then it wasn't your fault either," Carrie said.

John's
hands were in his pockets and his eyes were looking down, kicking at a cigarette butt on the asphalt.

"I kept working, John
. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Every day when I stepped into emergency, I remembered that night. But what else was I supposed to do? We had to go back to work. You quit."

"I couldn't go back there," he said.

"Then go somewhere else, John. Find something. Doctors Without Borders, anything."

"That's the second time I've heard that advice in the past week,"
John said.

"Then maybe that's what you should do
," Carrie said. "I'm sorry it happened. But you know what, I fell in love…was falling in love. But it would have failed. You know that. And now I feel as guilty as you. You ever think about that? I feel as guilty. I knew why you were still there. I knew you'd had an argument with Paulette. I didn't know what it was about, but that doesn't matter. I carry that with me to this day. I will always know that I was a part of their deaths. But I had to move on. You have to move on too. She would not blame you, John. She was a loving person and I know she would tell you to move on."

Carrie
stepped forward and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"She would forgive you,
" Carrie said. "And she would insist that you get back to work. She was very proud of your work. If you don't go back to work, then what do their deaths mean? Helping sick people is the only good thing that can come from such a horrible tragedy."

Now it was John's turn to
wipe his eyes.

Not here
.

Not now.

Hold it in
, he told himself.

Carrie kissed him on the cheek
, and when she stepped back, she dug into her bag, and pulled her keys out once more.

"We both have to forgive ourselves, John
. It's the only thing left to do."

Carrie turned and walked to her car, got in, and drove away without looking back
. As John watched her leave, he turned to survey the parking lot once more—wondering to himself if it would be for the last time. Then his cell phone rang. He answered.

"Hello
," John said.

"Dr. Randall, this is Detective Bell. I'd like to meet with you."

CHAPTER 42

John leaned over the railing
and watched the dark green ocean waves strike the pier pilings below, momentarily splitting in two, spraying white foam in the air, reforming on the other side, and thinning to a white foam blanket as they covered the shoreline. Above him, puffy white clouds slowly crossed a clear blue sky. It was still chilly, but sunny. Brisk and clean. It felt to John like the sort of day to start a new project. A man had more energy on a day like this. Yes, start a list of supplies, drive to the hardware store, buy your stuff, get back home, open the garage, and start building. But John had his project—find the killer. And Megan was his mentor. Certainly his lover. No matter what he called her, she was there and she was helping him. He would listen, ask questions, and then listen again. It was good. He couldn't argue with that. It was good and he felt good about it. Better every day.

Detective Bell had ask
ed for a face-to-face, but not at the station. The Greenwood City Pier—7:00 a.m. He didn't mind the time. He liked early mornings. He liked the quiet, and he hadn't been to the pier in a long time. It was nice. The smell of the ocean and the sea gulls flying overhead. A group of surfers were out, but the waves were nil and they weren't getting much in terms of a good ride. John turned back from the rail, walked down a few more feet, and sat on a concrete bench. He wasn't sitting there for very long before he spotted Detective Bell walking his way, a cup of coffee in each hand. When he reached John, he extended his right hand.

"Coffee?"

John took the cup. "Thanks."

"I hope you don't mind black
," Detective Bell said.

"That's fine."

Bell sat down next to John and took a sip from his cup. They sat like that, sipping their coffee in silence for a minute, before Bell finally spoke.

"I grew up just a couple miles from here
," Bell said.

John nodded.

"On sixteenth street. Born in sixty-two. Got a sister with her own State Farm office in Seattle. Another sister's married with three kids down in Lincoln," Bell said as he looked at John.

"You got kin?"
Bell said.

"No,"
John said, shaking his head.

"Too bad
. It's good to have family."

"I agree
," John said,

"Family is like the glue of life, wouldn't you say, Doc?"

John was beginning to wonder where this was leading. He was hoping he might be able to help the case by answering more questions about the killer. He figured Bell wanted to get him alone to make it easier than being inside the station with all the other detectives looking his way. But this conversation did not seem to be going in that direction.

"Sure
," John said.

Bell took another sip of his coffee, leaned back, exhaled, and brought his left hand up to the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his forehead like he had a headache.

"You're fucking my partner, John."

John froze
. Before he could respond, Bell spoke again.

"How is she supposed to do her work if she's banging you all the time?
"

"It's her choice,"
John said, not knowing what else to say.

"Didn't it seem a little too easy?"
Bell said.

"What do you mean, easy?
"

Bell sat up
, turned to face John, and said, "Let me clear a few things up for you, okay, cuz you really don't know what you're into. How do I put this?"

Bell looked off, nodding his head, as if he were reading down a bullet list of story titles, then turned back to John and said, "There were three of us
—three wide-eyed, green recruits. It was me, Russell Ash, and a cute twenty-three year old cadet named Megan Palmer. She was the top female cadet in the class, number fifty-nine overall. Fifty-nine out of three hundred and five. Beat me by a hundred."

A seagull flew over them and hovered, waiting for something to be thrown his way, but soon flew away.

"Russell and Megan hooked up during basic training" Bell shook his head. "It was doomed from the start. We all graduated, hit the streets, and life was good. Russell and I eventually became partners. But you know what, Doc, some men have no business being with a woman. Know what I mean?"

John did, and again wondered where this was all leading to, but at the same time the name
"Russell" had struck a chord.

Was this
the same Russell that Anna spoke of?

"Every Monday morning I'd get the debrief
. Russell loved his debrief. ′I fucked her this way. I did her that way.′  All he could talk about. After a while, I stopped listening. It wasn't right. I mean, she was my friend, too." Bell said as he shook his head and took another sip of coffee.

"The things he'd make her do
," Bell said.

John looked at Bell
. This was beginning to make sense to him. It
was
the same Russell. Had to be, and yet, that's not the impression of Russell that Anna and Megan had given him. Bell wasn't making any sense, and John wanted to wrap up this little meeting.

"So why did you ask me out here today?"
John said.

Bell ignored the question and pushed on
. "I was best man, you know. Three months later…Russell was dead. Killed on a domestic call. The worst kind. We'd been called out there before. Carson Apartments. But, well, the way I see it, what goes around comes around, know what I mean, Doc? Anyway, Megan never fully recovered."

"Detective Ash was married?"
John said.

Bell nodded
. "She's a widow. You didn't know that did you. She puts on a good face, and I've tried to help, but she just won't listen to me. Always been the independent type. Strong, you know. As long as I stick to business, she's fine." Bell stared ahead. "She hasn't told you, has she?"

John shook his head vaguely.

"Yeah, well…"Bell stood, walked to the edge of the pier, and poured the remainder of his coffee over the side. John watched him from behind, noticing his thick body and broad shoulders. Bell turned back and approached John, looking down at him.

"The thing is
, Doc," Bell said, "she's got issues. That's what matters. She's like family to me, and she's got issues. You're just another issue."

Bell bent over at the waist so his eyes met John's.

"It's time you walked away, Doc," Bell said and stood up straight, still looking down at John, to make sure his point stuck.

"I think that's best
," Bell said.

T
hen Bell turned and walked back down the pier, through a small group of kids, and disappeared into a parking lot.

Less than a hundred feet away, tucked around the corner of a dumpster at the end of the pier, an Olympus HD digital camera equipped with a
1,000x zoom lens and holding a memory card full of fifteen-megapixel pictures of the meeting between the doctor and the detective…snapped photo number twenty-eight.                                                          

Click.